


Reckless Serenade

by gildedmischief (cuddlyenderman)



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blood and Torture, Cults, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Witches, will update tags as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-11-08 18:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlyenderman/pseuds/gildedmischief
Summary: “Utterly ridiculous,” he murmured to himself as he looked at the words that finally finished scarring up his left hand.So, you must be The Outsider.





	1. In an unusual place...

**Author's Note:**

> So yes, this is a cliche soulmates au, but there is a lot more to it than just that I assure you. This chapter is just to give background information for the most part, since we are starting this before The Outsider was the Outsider and work our way from there. This will be a really slow burn and long fic, so bear with me. I will try my best to update regularly (once a week probably). Let's jump on in, shall we?

            It was common knowledge that in this world, any time before a person’s eighteenth birthday, words appeared somewhere on their body. They didn’t appear suddenly, like some preposterous tales liked their readers to believe. The words appeared slowly and painfully, etching into a person’s skin as if some otherworldly presence was carving into their flesh with a knife. It looked like scarred flesh once it is completed. Most people found them beautiful, something to be revered, a blessing. The reason for that lied in the meaning of those words: they were the first sentence spoke to the person from their soulmate.

            One young man, however, found them ugly and nonsensical. When the words carved into his flesh at fifteen years of age, all he thought of was how little sense it made. He certainly did not believe that they were words of his soulmate because surely that was just superstition. Any person someone met could say those words (and if they were in sight the “soulmate” could just read aloud what was carved into flesh) and suddenly they were supposed to live happily ever after.

            “Utterly ridiculous,” he murmured to himself as he looked at the words that finally finished scarring up his left hand.

 

_So, you must be The Outsider._

* * *

 

            The young man decided to keep his hand covered in case anyone got any funny ideas. He was solicited enough as it was and he did not need the extra attention. He lived on the streets in some non-descript town in Pandyssia. He did odd jobs around town to make enough coin to survive, but he never did steal.

            However, one fateful day, some kid younger than he, decided it would be a great idea to steal a whale bone necklace from someone’s stall. The kid didn’t even try to be sneaky, snatching the trinket and sprinting down the street. Unfortunately, the kid was wearing a hat that was far too big in order to hide their eyes; he smacked into the young man and both fell to the ground. The young man, confused as to what had occurred, just blinked at the kid who ran into him. The kid had the wind knocked out of him and breathed heavy, in a daze (his hat had fallen off and lied between them on the ground).

            At that moment, a large man barreled down the street yelling obscenities; this broke the kid out of his daze and he leapt up, dropping the necklace in the process, before running off down an alley. The young man picked up the necklace and stood, hoping to return it to the angry merchant. When the merchant made it to the young man, he noticed the hat on the ground and the necklace in the young man’s hand; obviously he thought the young man was the thief and not the kid who ran. The merchant bellowed at the young man, but he did not hear him. The only thing the young man heard was the necklace singing. The merchant realized he wasn’t being listened to, so he yanked the young man by the shirt up to his height. That action finally snapped the young man out of the trance.

 

            “How dare you try to steal from me, you wretch. I should gut you right here I—“

            “How does the necklace sing?” The young man interjects.

            “Wha—“

            “It’s so loud but it shouldn’t even be able to do that…” The young man continued rambling. It was clear he wasn’t totally coherent.

            The merchant let go of the young man’s shirt and scratched his head. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper.

 

 

 

> **_Reward!_ **
> 
> _If you or someone you know can hear whale bone items “sing,” then_
> 
> _please come/bring them to the address below for a 10,000-gold reward!_

            It was a flyer that was posted all over town. The merchant, who only served himself, pocketed one hoping to find some unlucky person to hand over to the obviously shady people who had a lot of coin to spare. So, he grabbed the young man’s arm and led him to the location, dreaming about all he could buy with that gold.

 

* * *

 

 

            They arrived at the address on the flyer, which was only five blocks away. It was a decent looking apartment building, the bricks in need of a little washing but not terribly. The windows were all dark; there was either no one home or all the curtains were drawn. The merchant glanced down at the paper again. It didn’t indicate a specific apartment, but maybe this was from the owners of the building itself so he knocked on the door.

            A minute or so later the door opened to reveal a person in a hooded cloak, the hood brought down low to hide the face. He said nothing, but motioned for them to enter the building. After hesitating for a second, the merchant dragged the young man inside. They followed the hooded figure to the first door, Apartment A. The figure unlocked the door and again motioned for them to enter, and they did so.

            The apartment was sparsely furnished from what they could see from the entranceway, a couple chairs in front of a fireplace and a dining table near what the merchant guessed was the kitchen. There were three closed doors that lead to other rooms, two bedrooms and a bathroom most likely. In one of the chairs near the fireplace, another hooded figure sat. He stood and told the first hooded figure to leave.

           

            “I suppose you found our flier,” he said turning to the merchant and young man. His voice sounded like sandpaper.

            “Yes, and this boy here was mumbling something about my whale bone necklace singing and I remembered the flier. I am very interested in this reward,” said the merchant.

            “You will get paid only if he passes my tests. We have had many liars come through those doors.”

            “Tests? What tests?”

            “That does not concern you. What does concern you is that these tests require a bit of privacy. Go wait outside the apartment and I will call you back in once the tests are completed.”

            “Fine, fine. Just don’t take too long. I’ve got a store to run after all.” The merchant exited the room, leaving the hooded figure and the young man alone.

            The hooded figure slid down his hood. He was an older man with gray hair and beard. He then noticed that the young man was transfixed upon the necklace in his hand. He kneeled to inspect it. It was a small whale bone pendant, about the size of a thumb, with a strange symbol carved into its front. The merchant didn’t seem like the kind of man who would know what that symbol meant, neither did the young man. The old man that was inspecting it, however, did know what symbol meant. He hummed and scratched his beard before muttering what sounded like a magical incantation. Suddenly the young man began to cough violently into his hand.

            Once the episode was over the young man looked at his hand and screamed, falling backwards on his rear. The old man rushed to grab his hand to find out what caused that reaction. Thick, black liquid pooled in the young man’s hand. It smelled like blood and sea salt.

           

            “By the Void,” the old man gasped, “he is the One!”

 

 


	2. Your snarl is just so condescending...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay on this chapter! I've been quite busy lately, so bear with me. I'm actually in the middle of moving right now so the next one might not be for another week or two.
> 
> So as a warning, this chapter does contain torture. I did put that in the tags, but I'll put this warning here just to reiterate that. Personally, I don't think it's all that graphic, but again that's just me. So if you don't want to read it, then I'd say stop reading after the second line break. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

            The young man awoke chained up in a basement. The only reason he knew he must be in a basement was the lone candle lighting up the stairs and the musty smell of the room. There didn’t seem to be any windows, but then again, he couldn’t see very well. He was sitting on top of a thin, straw mattress with his back against a stone wall. Manacles were around his wrists and were attached somewhere above him by heavy chains. Thankfully, they weren’t tight enough to cut into his skin and the chains weren’t taught so he could move around a little.

            He decided to look around before he started panicking. In front of the mattress lied a bowl of porridge. He stuck a finger in—it was cold. The young man frowned but brought the finger up to taste it nonetheless. It wasn’t terrible, but he wished it was hot at least. He turned to his left to see a toilet. He blanched. Apparently, he was supposed to use the toilet without a room for privacy. No one was in the room at that moment, so maybe it would be alright.

            He tried to remember how he got in this situation, but his mind went blank after he picked up that necklace. That is until he started coughing up blood in an apartment he’d never been in, and in front of some old man he’d never seen before. That blood wasn’t normal either. It was black, like tar. He hoped he was just remembering wrong. After that he blanked out again until he woke up. Perhaps he passed out, but he wasn’t certain. Either way, the old man from before was extremely suspicious.

           

            “Might as well drink this porridge. I doubt they’d poison it if they bothered to chain me up.”

 

            He slurped up the mediocre food. At least it was something.

 

* * *

 

 

            Time moved slowly for the young man. To him, it felt like ages, but he knew it was probably only a couple hours. He tried to keep his mind from generating horrible scenarios, but that proved more and more difficult as time passed. He hoped they wouldn’t hurt him, but he knew better. No one chains up a person just to let them go. Eventually he heard footsteps on the stairs. He was filled with both dread and anticipation for what was to come.

            Light bounced against the wall behind the stairs, casting strange dancing shadows. Slowly, more and more of a person became visible. It was a hooded figure carrying a candle, that much was certain, but the young man didn’t know if this was the old man from before or someone else. He hoped it was the old man so he could ask why he did this.

            Once the figure reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned towards where the young man was sitting. With another light source, more of the room was visible. It wasn’t impressive, just a small stone basement. The only furniture in the room was the small table next to the stairs with the candle, the mattress, and the toilet.

            The figure walked toward the young man and stopped right in front of the mattress. He drew back his hood; he was indeed the old man from before.

 

            “I see you are awake. Good.”

            “Why am I here?” Asked the young man.

            “You are here because you are meant to serve a greater purpose, boy, and we shall help you attain it.”

            “What do you mean ‘higher purpose?’”

            “You are the One from the prophecy.”

            “Wait, what prophecy? What is all this nonsense?”

           

            The old man leaned down to be level with the young man’s face.

 

            “You may not believe now, but you will soon. We must prepare you.”

            “Wait, I—“

 

            The young man’s plea was cut off by a cloth being shoved, not at all gently, into his mouth. He was being gagged. Fear seeped deep into the young man’s bones while the old man tied the cloth behind his head tight enough to pull his mouth into a silent grimace.

            The old man unlocked each manacle before grabbing both wrists in one hand. He then tied them together with a course rope. The manacles may not have cut into the young man’s skin, but the rope certainly did. The young man let out a muffled scream and clenched his eyes closed. He knew his situation would only get worse from here as he was marched up the basement stairs with the old man pushing him from behind.

 

* * *

 

            He was forced through a hallway by the old man behind him and when they came to a door on the left, the old man told him to stop. The old man walked around him and unlocked the door before yanking him inside by his arm. The young man gasped; this was a torture room.

            In the middle of the room was a wooden table with leather straps hanging off the sides; it was stained red. The young man didn’t want to imagine how many people were bled on that table. Like in the basement, there were manacles and chains attached to the wall, but there were some attached to the floor as well. There were cabinets lining one of the walls, containing who knew what. The young man didn’t want to know. While he was taking in his morbid surroundings, he failed to notice the old man had locked the door after he closed the door behind him.

            The old man pushed him towards the manacles on the wall and undid the rope binding his hands. He was facing the wall and made to turn around, but the old man pushed on his shoulder to stop him. He chained the young man’s arms up to the wall and his feet to the floor; he kind of hung there awkwardly, his feet barely grazing the floor. The young man was completely immobilized and couldn’t see anything happening behind him since he was facing the wall.

            He heard the old man open a cabinet and rummage around for something, then silence for a second before the old man spoke behind him.

           

            “I am going to destroy your humanity,” was all he said before he heard the crack of a whip.

            The young man had never felt such intense pain before. He, of course, screamed but because he was gagged it was just a muffled, “Mmm!” Tears ran down his face as it kept bumping against the wall he was facing. His back was on fire, but this was only just the beginning. More and more lashes were inflicted on him, and each time he tried to scream. The fact that he couldn’t really scream or breathe through his mouth just made the whole situation worse. He felt trapped and completely hopeless.

            As his back was being mangled he suddenly thought about the words on his hand. He said those words over and over in his head just for something else to focus on. It didn’t block out the pain at all, but at least now he wasn’t panicking; his heart had slowed down some and he didn’t feel as light headed.

            After what felt like hours, the old man put down the whip. The young man’s back was unrecognizable; it was covered in blood and deep gashes cross hatching his skin. Blood pooled at his feet and it continued to drip down from his wounds. His wrists and ankles were raw and bloody from being rubbed against the tight manacles. The young man was still somehow conscious, but barely.

            The old man unlocked the manacles on his ankles and then his wrists; the young man collapsed onto the floor, unable to hold up his own weight. He didn’t make a sound or shed a tear. He was just too exhausted and in pain to put forth the effort. The old man pulled him up by his arms and sat him down on the table.

 

             “I’m going to clean you up and bandage you now. We can’t have you die too early. The time has to be right.”

 

             He gathered the needed materials from around the room and started cleaning the wounds on his back. All the young man could do was wince and whimper. The old man then stitched up any gashes large enough to need them before wrapping the young man in bandages. He also cleaned and bandaged the young man’s wrist and ankles.

 

             “Can you stand?” The old man asked.

 

             The young man nodded and stood up, but suddenly he was falling and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone watch E3? Apparently there is going to be a side-story game starring Daud and Billy Lurk. Daud says in the trailer that he wants to kill The Outsider and I'm upset. ;-;


	3. A knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel bad that I took forever to post this chapter; I am super sorry! ^^;  
> I've been so busy lately with work and personal stuff! Also, the mood to write dark stuff like this only ever strikes me at like 1 am or later, which is horribly inconvenient. 
> 
> Anyways, this chapter is darker than the last. There is some unhealthy coping, perhaps bordering on self-harm, that goes along with yet another torture scene. So if that is going to trigger you in any way, don't read this chapter! Take care of yo self. I'll summarize as concisely I can in the notes before the next chapter.

           The young man blinked his eyes open and noticed he was in the basement again. He was lying on his side on the mattress despite not remembering how he got there. His back was itchy but didn’t hurt, which confused him. Just how long had he been asleep? There was no way of knowing and that scared him. He had no control over this situation or even his own life at this point. He remembered vividly what happened up until he assumedly fell unconscious. He remembered every lash from the whip and how it felt like his skin was on fire with pain. The young man realized that he wouldn’t be making it out of this alive. Somehow, he just knew that.

            He fisted his hand into his hair and curled up as much into a ball as he could. He wept for what felt like hours in between hyperventilating and silent screams. His eyes were red and puffy and snot dripped down his face as he cried. Eventually he exhausted himself both of tears and of energy. He faded into sleep with images of a man in a strange mask behind his eyelids.

 

* * *

 

            It became a new cycle: wake up, eat something, get tortured, pass out, wake up days later, cry, pass out again. Weeks went on like this, or at least the young man assumed it was weeks. During one of his more lucid moments, he estimated that each cycle was probably a week’s worth of days (being unconscious for most of them). He had no clue as to exactly how much time had passed, but he guessed that it had to have been at least a month since his capture. He was getting to the point where he didn’t even feel like crying anymore.

            He knew his back must look disgusting considering all the lashes he had received. The young man never thought himself vain, but there was just something upsetting about the entire topography of the skin on his back changing into mountains of scar tissue.

            He gave a short laugh. “Out of all the things to be upset over…” The young man sighed and clenched his eyes shut. He would not cry. He refused.

            The young man had been awake for a few minutes and yet no one had brought porridge yet. He knew that by this time, whatever time it was for he did not know, someone would have brought him his sordid breakfast. He sighed again as he traced the words on his arm and he found comfort in this. He didn’t believe there was someone out there waiting to say those words to him and he didn’t care. This was just a distraction from the pain for him, or at least that’s what he told himself.

            More time passed and still no one had come down to either give him food or take him to the torture room. Anxiety clawed at his stomach. Was something wrong? If he wasn’t chained to the wall like an animal, he would sneak upstairs and find out. Unfortunately, he was stuck with his racing thoughts of worse and worse scenarios.

            “Ah! Stop it!” He yelled at himself as he flipped from his side to his back. “Void, that hurts!”

            His breaths came in quick pants as he tried to get used to the pain. He hadn’t laid on his back since the first torture session; he knew it would hurt too much for any comfort. That isn’t why he chose to do so now, however. He needed his thoughts to subside at any cost or he would lose it. He also knew that sudden pain would rush to the forefront of his thoughts, and he was right. His anxious thoughts had stopped plaguing him. If he just focused on the pain pulsing in his back, then he could keep his thoughts at bay.

            Eventually he fell back asleep and he dreamt of a strange place. It was a vast space with floating islands of stone that seemed so very ancient. There was a power in this place and he could feel it; his skin tingled with it. He looked down at his hands, opening and closing them into fists. He felt like he could do something with this power, but he knew not what. His musings were cut short by a whale’s cry and his head shot up towards the direction of the sound. There was indeed a whale swimming in the sky of this place.

            But it wasn’t just any old whale. This was a leviathan, a supposed myth. The power, whatever it was, raced through body at that moment. This creature, this leviathan, must know something. The myths spoke of their sentience, so perhaps it could speak. As silly as it was, he decided to try and communicate with it.

            He cleared his throat. “You are a leviathan are you not?” He yelled.

            At first there was no response and he was just about to reprimand himself for trying to speak to a sea creature (and one that wasn’t supposed to exist at that), but then his ears began to ring and his head felt fuzzy all of a sudden.

            “Yes, I am, small one,” he heard in his head. The voice was not his own. It was several octaves below his speaking voice and it said the words slowly, as if the speaker was trying to carefully enunciate in a language not its own. It had to be the leviathan’s voice, as strange as it was. The young man figured, however, that this was also a strange place so it would make sense for a mythical creature to be talking telepathically.

            “What is this place?” He asked the leviathan, mentally preparing himself this time for its voice.

            “This is the void, small one. The place in between places. A place of unfathomable power. A place of dreams and death. It is many things.”

            “So, I am dreaming then?”

            “Yes, but that does not mean this place is not real. You have been here before, as all have. You just do not remember.”

            “This is all so strange! I can’t really believe what you say. How could a dream be real?”

“You have much to learn, small one, and much more suffering to endure before you are to learn it. It is a shame that cruelty is what led you to awaken.”

            “Awaken? What do you mean?”

            “You will learn everything soon enough. The cultist is coming to inflict new pain upon you. Prepare yourself, small one.”

            “But—“

            He opened his eyes. The old man stood above him, unlocking his manacles.

 

* * *

  

            When they arrive at the torture room, something changes. Instead of shackling him to the wall, the old man led him to a horrific looking wooden chair. The wood of the chair was not sanded or polished; in fact, it was splintering in some spots. There were five iron restraints on the chair: two for the arms, two for the legs, and one for the neck. This chair was designed to completely immobilize the unlucky person strapped in it. He could see crusty, old blood stains where the hands and feet would rest. He gulped.

            The old man turned the young man around to face him and pushed him into the chair before tightening the restrains on his appendages. They were tighter than usual. He then ambled over to a cabinet and rifled through it until he found what he was looking for: a hammer and a small wooden wedge. He pulled up a stool and sat in front of the young man, who was now trembling in fear.

            The old man held down his left hand with his wrist as he held the wooden wedge in between pinched fingers in front of the young man’s index fingernail. The young man tried to flail, but the extra tight restrains held him perfectly in place. In fact, his flailing almost choked him thanks to that infernal neck restraint. As the young man gasped for air, the old man drove that wedge under the fingernail with one swift hammer strike.

            The young man let out a bone chilling scream as he strained against the metal holding him in place, ending in a coughing fit. His fingernail was barely still hanging on as the old man yanks it free. He suddenly understood why there was blood where it was.

            He passed out right as the old man drove the last wedge in.

 

           

           

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the whole unhealthy-coping-of-anxiety/probably depression takes a basis in my own experiences with doing just that. That was an extremely watered down version of it, but the use of pain to block out things/feel something else was still there. It must mean something in my recovery if I can write something of this nature and not get withdrawals or anything. Go me! *high-fives self* 
> 
> Now then, about when I will post next chapter... I will be busy with work all through October so I might not get the chance to post until like November. I will be working on it, don't you worry, just slowly. So please just be patient with me! 
> 
> And thank y'all for all the kudos and comments; ya'll are too sweet~!


End file.
